


First Foot

by maaaaa



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Relationships: Simon Banks/Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Kudos: 4





	First Foot

The soft grey light of early morning was just beginning to seep in through the skylight when Jim stirred in response to the sound of the elevator bumping and whirring its way upward. He waited a few moments, cataloguing the sounds and scents of the elevator’s sole occupant.

Satisfied he knew who was coming up he stretched contentedly and then let his right arm fall down gently in search of Blair, knowing by experience he wouldn’t need to probe far. He only had to pat about two inches of empty pillow before finding him.

Jim smiled, rolled to his side and opened his eyes. Blair was squirreled under the blankets, his back to Jim, quivering in time with gentle snores.

Jim’s smile broadened. He reached over and tugged Blair closer, right up next to him. “Happy New Year,” he whispered against the nape of Blair’s neck.

“Mmmmmpf,” Blair replied as he nestled himself more comfortably into Jim’s space, nudging him with his ass.

“Someone’s on the way up,” Jim said. He leaned over Blair and stole a kiss before throwing back the covers on his side of the bed and getting out.

Either the kiss or the announcement, but most likely the announcement, woke Blair up. He scrambled to sit up and untangle the covers.

Jim, shouldering into his robe, pointed a finger at him. “Stay put.”

“But Jiii-iiim,” Blair, now fully awake and twice as animated, protested. “You can’t let just anyone in. It’s New Year’s day---,”

“Really?” Jim deadpanned. “Stay put,” he reiterated. But the gruffness in his voice didn’t reach his eyes.

Blair flopped back onto the bed with a huff, and crossed his arms.

Jim closed his robe and belted it as he jogged down the stairs. He crossed the loft and yanked the door open, unsurprised to see Simon standing there dressed to the nines in a well-fitted tux. He grinned as he casually rested a forearm at shoulder height against the doorframe, fluttering a few fingers in welcome.

Simon scowled half-heartedly as he gave up trying to juggle what he was carrying, obviously having been in the middle of an attempt to free a hand to knock.

“Shut up,” he said to Jim as he shouldered past him.

Jim shook his head and chuckled. He quickly caught up with Simon and helped him empty his arms, setting the packages on the end of the kitchen counter. Then he pulled Simon in for a hug and kissed his cheek. He took a half step back, sized Simon up, drew in a slow, appreciative breath and said, “You look great; tall, dark and handsome, just the ticket. Happy New Year.”

Simon warmly returned the hug, the kiss, and the greeting, immediately dropping the growly façade. As he turned away from Jim and started taking off his coat, he caught sight of Blair, naked as a jaybird, flying down the stairs. Before he had time to brace himself, Blair barreled into him, knocking him backward into Jim’s steadying grasp.

“Simon!” Blair blurted with unrestrained glee. “You made it!” He hugged Simon for all he was worth and then pulled Simon’s face down and kissed him square on the lips.

Simon laughed, a deep mellow guffaw, and yanked Blair up off his feet to kiss again.

“This is perfect!” Blair crowed. “And not just that you made it for New Year.” He looked past Simon to Jim and nodded enthusiastically. Then he looked back at Simon and admonished, “It would’ve been more perfect if you’d made it right after midnight.”

Simon kissed Blair again and retorted, “You try ducking out of the governor’s ball before midnight, much less driving half the night.” He added his own admonishment by way of a swat to Blair’s ass.

Blair just laughed and unsuccessfully tried to squirm away from Simon’s hand, which rested where it’d landed. “It’s okay. I forgive you,” he replied magnanimously. “Besides, you’re still quaaltagh, so it’s all good.”

Simon set Blair down, kept an arm wrapped securely around him, and turned to Jim with a curious expression.

“I’m qua-wha?” he asked, looking suitably bewildered.

Jim shrugged, and lifted an eyebrow in return. “He’s been going on for days about some cockamamie tradition---,”

“Scots,” Blair interrupted in a clearly exasperated tone.

“Oh, right, a Scots New Year tradition,” Jim amended in an overly tolerant, bemused tone. “Hogamahooey, Hogamawash---,” he elaborated as he wafted a hand in the air as if trying to pick the correct term out of the atmosphere.

Blair batted Jim in the chest with the flat of his hand and gave him a playful shove.

“Hogmanay,” he corrected imperiously, snubbing Jim and directing his attention to Simon. “And technically that was last night, New Year’s Eve. Quaaltagh is Gaelic for first foot, which is a New Year’s day tradition. Though I’m probably murdering the pronunciation.”

Simon looked down at his feet. Then he inclined his head slightly and gave Jim a narrow-eyed look over the top of his glasses.

Jim just aped a blank, ignorant face.

Blair laid a hand against Simon’s cheek and guided his gaze back up to himself. “Ignore him. You.” he kissed Simon again, “Are our bringer of good fortune for the New Year.” He stepped back, clapped his hands and rubbed them, and then asked, “Where are the gifts?” He stood on tiptoe to try to see around and past Simon to what was on the counter.

Dismissing the question with an amused snort, Simon instead fisted his hands on his hips and gave Blair a quick once-over, as if he’d just now noticed Blair was naked.

“Sandburg, for someone who spends the better part of his time bitching about the cold, why in the world are you standing here in your all together, freezing your butt off?” he demanded gruffly.

Jim skirted past Simon and engulfed Blair in a bear hug from behind as if shielding him from Simon. He rested his chin on Blair’s shoulder and chimed in, “I’ll make sure he won’t freeze anything off.” Then he playfully begged, “C'mon. Let’s see the gifts.” He nodded toward the kitchen counter.

Simon let out a long-suffering sigh, mainly for effect. He took off his top coat and set it aside, then fished in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He produced a silver dollar, which he handed to Jim. “For financial prosperity,” he intoned solemnly. Then he pulled a loaf of bread and a small container of salt from one of the bags on the counter, likewise handing them to Jim. Jim had to loosen his hold on Blair in order to accept them, tucking the loaf under an elbow. “That this house may always have food and flavor,” Simon said. Lastly, he withdrew a bottle of whiskey.

Blair held out a hand, which Simon ignored.

“For good cheer,” Simon stated, making sure the bottle ended up in Jim’s free hand.

“No coal for warmth?” Blair asked cheekily, feigning a look of disappointment.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you’re warm,” Simon answered. He grabbed Blair from Jim’s loose hold and hefted him up over a shoulder. Blair chuckled, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. He wiggled, but made no true attempt to get free.

As Simon headed for the stairs, he looked back at Jim. “Coming?” he asked. Blair’s head popped up. He was grinning from ear to ear and repeated Simon’s question by waggling his eyebrows.

Jim set the gifts back on the counter, and started pawing through the other bags which contained beer, frozen pizza, and snacks. “You go ahead, I’ll take care of all this and join you in a few,” he responded.

Jim ascended the stairs fifteen minutes later carrying a tray with the whiskey bottle and three glasses. Simon, now naked, was face down on the bed, his head resting on his forearms, humming contentedly. Blair was sitting astride him, his butt in the small of Simon’s back, and he was massaging Simon’s neck and shoulders. He glanced at Jim and smiled. Jim set the tray on the night stand. He walked to the other side of the room and slid a chair across the floor. He sat down, put his feet on the end of the bed, crossing his ankles, and settled back to enjoy the view.

A few minutes later Simon stretched languidly with a satisfied moan, and then upended Blair with a nimble maneuver that landed Blair on the bed under him. Jim shed his robe then, climbed onto the bed and positioned himself so Blair’s head was between his splayed legs. He alternated kissing Blair’s face wherever he could reach, and Simon’s lips whenever they came up for air. His hands rubbed gently over warmed, slick skin as Simon and Blair slowly made love.

Hours later the three of them, in various states of dress, lounged on the couch. Blair was sprawled on his back between the two others. His head was in Simon’s lap, his feet in Jim’s. The third football game of the day was on, and the smell of pizza hung in the air. The whiskey bottle sat on the coffee table, two-thirds gone. Blair’s empty glass lay on the floor on its side. Jim and Simon were each nursing half full glasses of their own.

“Next year we should go to Edinburgh so we’re there for the Hogmanay celebrations,” Blair said sleepily. “They’re supposed to be wild.”

Simon leveled a stern look at Jim and said, “Don’t even think about indulging him on that.”

“Says the man who drove half the night laden with the stuff I called and told him about only two days ago, so he could be first foot,” Jim retorted with a wry chuckle. “By the way, nice whiskey,” he added as he raised his glass in tribute before taking a swallow.

Blair turned onto his side and lazily nuzzled his face in Simon’s groin.

Simon gave up the authoritarian attempt quickly with a deep throated chuckle. He sipped from his glass and answered, “Fine. But I’m not wearing a kilt.”


End file.
